It was two days later- after their mother had fled back to Horsham with a curse on her lips, after she and Jonathan had been to the police station and come back with some vague answers- that Russel Doggett came to Octavia’s flat.

The flat was in Southwark- somewhere central, close to Goldemar Events’ main office- and she’d filled it up with cheap Ikea furniture and not much else.  It was a functional place, and Octavia didn’t mind spending the night there.  Nights when Russel Doggett wasn’t around, anyway.

She wasn’t surprised when her buzzer went and she heard his voice on the other end of the intercom.  She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’ll come down to meet you,” she said, “I’m not letting you in.”  She hung up before he could argue, and went downstairs.

The hallway in her building was clean, warm and well-lit, but Octavia wondered if she’d have felt better right now if it wasn’t.  If some of the lights had been on the blink, he wouldn’t see her coming.  His face lit up when he saw her through the front door, but he didn’t see her take her phone out of her pocket as she opened it.  As soon as she had an unobscured shot of him, she raised it and pressed the camera button three times in succession.

Russel tensed, his hands up as if expecting a fight.  “What do you think you’re playing at?”

Keeping the phone angled away from Russel in case he tried to snatch it, Octavia pressed a few more buttons and sent the photos on to Mr Ashley.  “Well, our neighbours were very concerned when they heard there’d been a strange man following my children around.  This way, they’ll all know who to watch out for.”

Russel stayed tense, and Octavia wondered if he was going to try and lunge at her.  She’d been in physical fights before (you’d never guess how rough an expensive private school could get when the teachers weren’t looking), but probably not nearly as frequently as he had.  “It’s not me you have to worry about, you stupid bitch,” he told her, “George Chandler.  What if he found out where your children lived?”

Octavia’s first thought was, How did he even find out about George Chandler?, but she quickly dismissed it.  If he was obsessed enough to follow her to Torquay and stick around for most of the weekend, then he was obsessed enough to find out everything else that could be used against her, too.

George Chandler.  He was angry with her, she knew that, but did “angry enough to throw around idle threats of a lawsuit” mean “angry enough to pose a serious threat”?  Even if he was rich enough and unethical enough to hire people to do his dirty work, would he risk losing everything he had to go after a pair of children?  Could Octavia risk everything by assuming he wouldn’t?

Apparently Octavia’s poker face wasn’t as good as she thought, because an oily smile spread across Russel’s face and he nodded.  “So we understand each other.”  He nodded towards the door.  “I think you’ll be letting me into your flat now, right?”

Yes.  That way I can murder you without having to worry about witnesses.  “Nope.  Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come up to your flat.”  He took a step forward.

Octavia moved so that she was standing right across the doorway.  “Not happening.  Pick something else.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to insist, which would have meant that she really would have found out if she had it in her to invite him up and slit his throat with the paring knife. Instead, he relaxed in place, and chuckled.  “That’s your problem, isn’t it?  You always think you’re in charge.  Even when you’re in somebody else’s house.”

That’s definitely what this is about, thought Octavia, He doesn’t want anything specific- he just wants to bring me down a peg or two.  The trouble is, with someone like him, that could mean anything.

“You thought you were so clever, sneering at me when my back was turned.  Trying to turn my wife against me.  Did you really think I was too fucking stupid to see it?”

Give him something specific to want, thought Octavia.  “Do you mean the time you said you weren’t allowed on TV anymore because you weren’t a disabled lesbian?”

“Right.  And you said…”

“What if I could get you back on TV?”

Russel’s eyes lit up, and Octavia felt something loosen in her chest.

“What?” he spluttered.

“I’ve planned events for a few TV companies.  They remember me pretty fondly.”  Fondly enough to help her fob Russel off until she worked out how she could deal with him properly, she hoped.  “I’d just need to scratch a few backs.”

Russel’s jaw was practically hanging open.  “You really think you could do it?”

“To keep my children out of danger?” she asked sourly, “Yes.”  He was lucky he hadn’t carried on asking to come up to her flat, or he’d have found out what else she was prepared to do.

Russel grinned and rocked back on his heels.  “Well, well, well…”

It was probably best to cut this conversation short while she could.  “I’m going back up now.  I’ll make some calls.”  And she shut the door behind her.

(To be continued)